The Problem With Crazy

by Lauren McKellar

  “Every day, the pain it goes on,

  Every day, telling right from wrong.

  And it hurts, knowing what is right,

  And it’s hard, to stay alive inside.

  But it’s the shadows that make the man,

  And it takes love to understand …

  Every day, love is found,

  For every hurt, random kindness goes around.

  You will find someone who believes,

  Who holds you, helps you when in need.

  And you will—never be alone,

  You will—always have a home.

  Always …

  Always …

  Always …”

  Everyone in the audience was focused on him. I saw some people wipe away tears, and wondered if they knew Lachlan personally, or were simply touched by Lee’s song. Either way, it didn’t matter.

  All that mattered was the here and the now.

  And the firsts.

  “It hurts now, and it won’t heal,” Lee sang. “And scars will form on you. And when, nothing seems to be re-ee-eal,” Lee’s voice cascaded over a scale of notes, “Your strength will shine on through.”

  I blinked back a new crying assault and was thankful again for the support of the door behind me. I was a fairly big Coal fan, and I’d never heard this song before. It felt so real, so right for the moment—I couldn’t have planned it better myself.

  When he finished, the audience erupted into a tsunami of applause. I saw a few women smack their lips together and I held back a wicked grin. I knew he was about to get assaulted and seduced, in the way that surely, only seriously famous and sexy rock stars can.

  Wait.

  I’m smiling.

  I pulled my lips back into a straight line.

  “Lee! Sign my bra?” I heard a voice trill over the rest of the crowd. This time when I grinned, I showed some teeth.

  “That was Lee Collins, ladies and gentleman.” Michael was back on the mic, proving himself quite the emcee. “He has graciously conceded to do some signings here tonight, and will give away personalised autographs on an exclusive new EP to anyone who buys one of these stunning works of art for a purchase price of one thousand dollars or more.”

  My eyes widened.

  One thousand dollars?

  To my surprise, people surged forward, one or two credit cards already waving in the air. I saw Johnny stagger in shock as Leslie pushed him toward the register, and I smiled. I knew it wasn’t about the money to him; but if he could raise his brother to celebrity artist stakes, help make a living now he was forging it on his own, surely it was a good thing.

  I pushed off from the door and fought my way through the crowds. It was thickest near the wall with the paintings, dozens of people pointing and eyeing them off. I grabbed the artwork with the streetlight, our streetlight, and lifted it gently off the wall.

  “I was going to buy that.” A woman in a sequinned black dress jabbed a finger into my arm accusingly.

  “It’s not for sale.” I tucked the piece protectively under my shoulder, quickly walked around the bar, and shoved it under the counter. Some things, you needed to hold close.

  “Rain dance.”

  The words rang out through the room, a screeching, masculine cry over the shrill female voices that were now humming to the tune of Lee Collins.

  I pursed my lips.

  Really?

  “Rain dance time!”

  I looked to the source of the noise and saw him standing near the door, his eyes glazed and wide, focused on the downpour outside. Mum was standing next to him, her lips a mirror of my own, her fingers gripping Dad’s arm like he was about to take off.

  I forced my way through the crowd, determined to get to him before any more damage could be done.

  But I was too late.

  It was too late.

  Dad freed himself from Mum’s tight claws and pushed open the door, rushing into the rain outside. He stopped, right in front of the window where we all could see, like the hundred people and I were watching a movie, starring him.

  “Raaaaaain dance.” I heard him shout.

  I was at the door now, my eyes wide, my heart thumping.

  Why?

  Why was he ruining everything?

  I heard the voices still as everyone focused on the man with the disease in the rain. A few cameras flashed.

  “Hmph! Crazy,” a woman next to me said, nudging her friend’s arm.

  I felt something warm inside me. A fire, one I didn’t know was burning. I thought of how Dad had been there for me as a kid. I thought of how Dad had comforted me on stage, only moments before.

  Dad.

  I pushed past the woman, not caring how my shoulder jolted hers, causing her wine to spill from her glass and splash on her dress. I moved forward, placed my hands on the door, ready to shove it open.

  “Come on.” I looked at Mum. Her jaw was around her shoulders, her eyes alive with panic.

  “It’s okay,” I said. I held out my hand, offering her company.

  Because if this was crazy, we were in it together.

  And there’s nothing like a first in the rain.

  Mum delicately placed her hand in mine then stepped toward the door. Without waiting for further encouragement I shoved the door open, letting the noise of the rain further infiltrate the judgmental silence that was now inside.

  I pulled Mum through the doors and together, we ran out into the rain.

  Droplets of wet beat on me, slicking my hair to my head. In seconds, I was drenched. My dress clung to my knees, my shoulders, until I could barely separate the wet of my skin from the wet of the material.

  We jogged over to Dad who had his arms outstretched, welcoming the clouds, and the rain, and the everything.

  What was the point in fighting it?

  Sometimes you just had to let the rain in.

  I giggled, a stupid laugh that I knew looked crazy to those inside, and Mum gave my shoulder a squeeze. She got it. I knew she did.

  Dad stripped off his jacket and let it drop to the gutter where it quickly amassed in a puddle. His white shirt had gone see-through, and his chest hair was just visible. His smile was radiant, stretched from ear to ear, as he embraced all that Mother Nature had to offer.

  “Rain,” he called. I’d never heard him so exuberant.

  I wondered if he’d ever been this happy before.

  I grabbed his hand and pulled it toward Mum’s. She shyly accepted, and I saw Dad squeeze, giving her a look that was so full of love I felt like crying again.

  I sniffed, holding back a tear. Wearing formal gear in the rain? It was a first Lachlan would have loved.

  “Kate!”

  My name made me turn. I looked at the café, at the hundred sets of eyes staring at us, and saw Stacey and Michael. They were right in the doorway, exchanging some furious words. I bit my lip. Was now really the time?

  Then they were running toward me, hands tightly gripped, Stacey letting out a tiny girly squeal as the rain made contact with her face.

  “Woo!” she screamed. She threw her hands up in the air, a smile on her face so wide it almost matched my dad’s. Michael grabbed her by the waist and planted a kiss on her cheek, the smacking sound audible even over the thunder above. My cheeks were hurting from love, and life.

  Next came Johnny. He opened the door and calmly walked out into the rain, without the enthusiasm of Stacey and Michael, but with the determination of someone who gets it. Someone who knew what was going on, and knew he had to be in on it.

  He linked his arm through mine and we stared at the ominous sky above. I watched as drops of rain sluiced their way down his face, over his nose, shining as they caught in his goatee.

  “We’re gonna be okay,” he said. His voice was so quiet, I almost wasn’t sure he spoke.

  But he did.

  I knew he did.

  “Kate.”

  I tore my eyes from Johnny’s, and saw Lee Collins walking across the pavement.<
br />
  In the rain.

  Lee-freaking-Collins!

  “You all right?” He stood in front of me. He was wearing a white T-shirt, and I could see the definition of his body beneath it. I was fairly sure about one hundred pairs of eyes inside could see it, too.

  “Fine.” I wasn’t even sure I was speaking, but I heard the voice and I knew it belonged to me.

  “Cool.” Lee nodded, and stood next to me, on the other side. We were a line of seven, all facing the open window of the café. All grinning, stupid wide smiles that I knew must be contagious. I saw people inside mirroring us.

  “I hope it’s okay I sent you flowers.” Lee tilted his head toward me. “My dad has Parkinson’s. I get it.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said automatically.

  “Don’t be.” He shrugged. He nodded at Dad, smiling. “Looks like he’s having fun.”

  Dad had both his arms around Mum’s waist and was trying to coax her into dancing to a tune only he could hear. Mum sidestepped to the inaudible beat.

  I couldn’t help but smile.

  “You know, I’d love to hang out sometime,” Lee said. I felt his hand on my arm. It was warm, wet, and sent tingles down my spine.

  I glanced at Johnny and he gave me a wink; subtle, but there.

  I looked back at Lee, studied his chiselled jawline, his high-set cheekbones. God, he was sexy.

  But I wasn’t ready. One moment I was full of misery, determined I would never be happy again, that I could never get over Lachlan, the only boy who would ever like me, take me for who me, and my family, were.

  Then I looked at the clouds, at Dad, at the café, and I remembered Lachlan’s enthusiasm for life. His firsts.

  Finally, I looked at Lee. He was looking at me like I was something special; even though he knew about Dad.

  I chewed my lip. Rain seeped into my mouth.

  “Lee,” I started.

  He was a rock star. I thought of the frisson of excitement that had coursed through me when I first met him.

  Why did I let Dave make me think I would never find another guy again?

  “I was kind of involved with Lachlan, the artist.” I jerked my head toward the building.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Lee nodded, a frown marring his face. A smile broke out a heartbeat later. “But a gorgeous, unique, tour-organising, newly single girl like you; you can’t blame me for getting in before the masses find out you’re available, right?”

  I turned fifty shades of red.

  Lee Collins thought I was—things! And he knew I was the one who organised the tour.

  “You know what?” I turned to face him. I saw Mum spin into Dad in the background, and Stacey and Michael share a passionate kiss. Johnny just stared at the café, a small smile playing over his face.

  A rush of warmth spilled through me.

  We’d get through this.

  We’d all get through this.

  I thought about Lee’s sentence again, asking if I blamed him for trying to ask me out. I looked down at my feet, and thought about the way Lachlan made me feel. Like I was desirable. Like I was worth something.

  I grinned.

  It was an easy answer to a complicated question.

  “You’d be crazy not to.”

  Liked The Problem With Crazy? Stay tuned for The Problem With Heartache, coming June, 2014.

  THE PROBLEM WITH HEARTACHE

  Excerpt

  THE PROBLEM with heartache is that you can’t mourn forever. You can’t walk around the streets, wearing black, carrying holy water on your person in the hope that you’ll stumble upon a miracle, be able to use it and bring that person back. One day, you’re gonna forget that tiny vial, and you’re not gonna realise until it’s too late.

  “Are you done?” Mum enunciated each syllable like it weighed a ton.

  “Give me a second.” I threw my arms behind my back, fiddling with the straps on the bra.

  A solution for heartache, however, appeared to be running. Or, it seemed to be for me. I’d been jogging on the beach every day for six months now, and slowly but surely, I was getting better mentally, becoming able to function again.

  Even if it meant that my boobs were getting smaller. Hence the new sports-bra shopping trip.

  “Are you having fun?”

  I cringed. Really, Mum? Fun?

  My fumbling finally resulted in success and I shook the bra off, quickly shrugging my normal one over my shoulders and throwing my T-shirt on top of that. It hung loosely over my hips, the grey speckled material suiting my mood to a tee. Ha. See what I did there?

  Making bad jokes to yourself: a potential symptom of heartache. Thankfully, not a symptom of Huntington’s disease.

  I grabbed my purse from the little seat the staff at the lingerie store so kindly provided its change room patrons, and walked to the front of the store to the checkout area, sports bra in hand, ready to make the purchase.

  The guy in front of me at the counter was taking a really long time. He had six different sets of lingerie to put through. I couldn’t help but check around his arm to see what. Black lace, red silk, black pleather … and was that something with fur I could see?

  “Stop stickybeaking.” Mum slapped my arm, and I snapped my head back to my chest.

  “It’s a public place,” I whispered. The transaction in front of me continued. Hopefully, underwear-fetish guy hadn’t heard.

  “People don’t like you to look at their knickers, Kate.” Mum tutted quietly, shaking her head.

  “Well maybe people shouldn’t buy quite so many pairs. And besides,” I hissed, raising my eyebrows at her. “We don’t know that he’s going to wear them all at once.”

  “Ahem.”

  Of course. You whisper three fairly innocent sentences, but the one about the guy in front of you being a cross-dressing lingerie wearer, he hears.

  “Sorry.” I studied the ground.

  The man turned around to face me. He had maroon leather shoes, scuffed, like they’d seen better days. My gaze travelled up his black jeans, over his red-chequered shirt with the triangular collar, the black scarf around his chin, covering his lips, his nose—but not his eyes.

  Holy hell, did the man have eyes.

  “Kate.”

  I blinked. What? How did this guy know my name?

  “Yes?” Mum replied, and I jabbed an elbow to her ribs.

  “That’s me.” I smiled brightly. “Sorry about the panties-wearing comment.”

  “To be fair, this does look a little weird,” the guy said. You can say that again … “We just have this film clip tomorrow, and the stupid wardrobe guy said the models won’t fit any of the … you know …” The man jerked his thumb toward the counter, indicating the underwear the checkout chick had now finished ringing up.

  Cogs clicked in my head. This wasn’t—

  “Lee?” I silently added freaking-Collins. If he was going to the trouble of wearing a bad scarf by way of disguise, I doubted he’d be keen on me screaming his full name in a crowded shopping centre.

  “Yeah?”

  Silence.

  “Kate’s just so happy to see you, is all,” Mum said. She took a step closer. “Hard to recognise, behind that scarf there.”

  “That’s kind of the point.” Lee gave her a wink. I swear, my mother blushed.

  “Well, we’d love to have you over for dinner sometime, since you’re in town,” Mum was saying, her hands clasped together. She opened her mouth to continue speaking.

  “But being a really busy guy, we wouldn’t actually expect you to come.” I overlapped.

  “Well, if we invited you formally, we would,” Mum said, giving me a strange look.

  “I mean, I could.” Lee spoke the words softly, taking a step closer. “So long as you don’t tell anyone about my secret identity.”

  Mum giggled like a schoolgirl. Help me, God.

  I looked past her. Two men in dark jackets stood at the entrance to the store, no doubt Lee’s security. He’d get mobbed
if anyone figured out who he was. One of them was fiddling with some flimsy looking bra on a stand out front, and the other observing people who walked past in the shopping centre, and—

  Him.

  I dropped the sports bra and ran, shouldering Mum as I surged forward, out the doors of the shop.

  Left?

  Right.

  I could just make out the brown hair bobbing in the distance.

  I bolted, as fast as my legs could carry me, darting around mothers with prams, old people supported by walking frames, and teenagers making their way to the food court in an achingly slow fashion.

  Turning the corner, I could see the hair again, but it was still too far away. My knees raised higher, my feet hit the ground harder, and I gave it all I had. I couldn’t let this opportunity get away. I had to take it. I had to make it.

  This time when I turned the corner, he was almost within arm’s reach. Ignoring the stares I was getting from the lunchtime food-court crowd, I dove, reaching out and grabbing onto the denim of his jeans as I fell.

  I hit the ground, hard. Tiles smashed into my ribs, my knee, the side of my jaw. Everything went black for a few moments, and I blinked, trying to clear my vision.

  When I could focus again, I looked up. Faces hovered over me, voices yelling things, asking things that I couldn’t quite make out.

  I need you.

  Then I saw him. The blue jeans, the white shirt. The brown floppy hair.

  I blinked, and concentrated all my brainpower on focusing on his face. His face, Kate. Look at his face.

  “Lachlan?”

  I blinked again. An old man wearing a chocolate-coloured beret stared back at me.

  Shit.

  Read other books by Lauren K. McKellar

  About Huntington’s Disease

  Huntington’s disease is a genetic, neurodegenerative disease that causes brain cell death. While the author has endeavoured to portray the suffering of real patients in this book, she understands that no fictionalised story can really grasp the pain and the difficulty these people and their families go through in everyday life.

  Victims of Huntington’s disease can suffer from involuntary movement, memory difficulties, mood disorders, hindered coordination, difficulty with problem solving, some issues with swallowing, and personality changes.